


Roast Chicken and How to Fall in Love

by ninemoons42



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cats, Cooking, F/M, Food, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-16
Updated: 2011-04-16
Packaged: 2017-10-18 04:12:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/184838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninemoons42/pseuds/ninemoons42
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Eames is magic in the kitchen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Roast Chicken and How to Fall in Love

  
title: Roast Chicken and How to Fall in Love  
author: [](http://ninemoons42.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**ninemoons42**](http://ninemoons42.dreamwidth.org/)  
pairings: Eventual Arthur/Eames; established Mal/Dom. Yusuf, Nash, and Philippa also appear.  
warnings: Do not read on an empty stomach. Seriously. This comes as a result of a Twitter discussion with [](http://www.livejournal.com/users/seraphinhunter/profile)[**seraphinhunter**](http://www.livejournal.com/users/seraphinhunter/) , who said that the fic where Eames was basically Nigella Lawson needed to be written. And I happen to love Nigella madly. Therefore, this. The first sentence originates from a character-flip of tweetfic number two from [this entry](http://ilovetakahana.livejournal.com/101457.html).  
This is nothing but food porn, really, and nearly all of the recipes here were adapted from Nigella's books.  
disclaimer: I don't own the original story or the characters. Not making any profit, just playing in the sandbox.  
summary: In which Eames is magic in the kitchen.

  
Eames lifted the lid on the pot and smiled as the spice-laden steam hit his nose. He was definitely getting closer and closer to the desired result, and he pulled a battered notebook from his back pockets and scribbled rapidly in it, heedless of the lingering spice dust on his fingers.

Someone knocked on the door, then, and he made sure the hob was turned all the way down before he wiped his hands on his apron - it was still mostly clean, and that made him smile - and hurried out to the front door.

Yusuf was standing there with his cat, his disheveled lab coat, and his safety glasses. "Nipped out from the labs for a quick lunch," he said cheerfully. "Plus you said you were watching Maryam for the weekend."

"I was," Eames laughed, "and I hope you know what you're doing. Last time you dropped that cat off here you practically had to drug her to come away willingly."

"Because you're spoiling her," Yusuf laughed. "Even the things you dump in the bin are a thousand times better than any so-called gourmet cat food."

"Which is all just rubbish and meat scrapings anyway. Let's not kid ourselves."

Eames hurried back to the kitchen and just barely managed to rescue his pot from feline depredations. "Your cat, Yusuf, ought to be banned from kitchens. Mine being the most important one."

Yusuf laughed, and put one hand on his hip while he shook a stern finger at his recalcitrant cat. "Be nice, you, or I shall conveniently forget to bring you Eames's leftovers, and then what will you have to eat?"

The cat meowed, stalked over to the kitchen table, and curled up to sleep next to one of the mixing bowls.

"So, what are we having to eat?"

"Make yourself useful and go get the wine," Eames said. "Couscous, mixed with haricots verts and veal shanks. You're lucky my butcher likes me."

"The neighborhood likes you, you oaf, from the Cobbs to your bloody postman. Too many experiments, and too generous with them by far. I've told you time and time again, you really need to do something more productive with your cooking."

"Such as?"

"A cookbook. A TV show. You'd look good on TV. That is my considered opinion as your friend."

Just then, there was a low grumbling sound in the kitchen.

The two men mock-glared at each other for a few minutes before Eames laughed, "Never mind pointing fingers, we're both hungry, let's eat," and started dishing out the food.

"Looks good," Yusuf said, and he took the extra plate of food from Eames with a smile before putting it on the floor - then he gently shoved Maryam off the table.

Silence but for the clatter of Yusuf's fork and knife, and then - "Eames?"

"Yusuf."

"I demand the recipe for this."

"Have at it," Eames said easily, and passed him his notebook.

Pause, then: "You idiot, I can't read your bloody handwriting!"

"You should have gotten here earlier, then, while I was making this."

"Eames?"

"Yes?" Eames lifted an eyebrow and started in on his own plate.

"Cookbook. You need to write one, and then you need to have it properly printed out, and then you need to give me a copy."

"We'll see, Yusuf."

"God, this is good stuff, Eames."

"Help yourself."

///

Two years later

"Hey, Eames!"

"Glad you like the book, now please let me run along or my friend will have my head," Eames laughed, and he signed the girls' books with a flourish before recapping his pen and rushing across the street. "Sorry, mate. I got recognized." Pause, then: "I may never get used to it."

"You should try," Yusuf said sagely. He was carrying a large canvas tote bag with him. "You're only sitting on a bestseller, which is just as well since I warned you about it in the first place. Wait till the book tours start."

Eames looked in the bag - and there was Maryam, fast asleep, and surrounded by her four kittens. "Those kits sure grew quickly," he said, smiling in spite of himself.

"They're just about old enough to start eating real food," Yusuf said, smirking. "And since you're actually staying home again this weekend, you get to provide them with that introduction."

"I expected as much," Eames said, mock-dejectedly. "You're still just using me for my kitchen, you miserable tosser."

"I'd be an idiot if I didn't," Yusuf laughed.

"You and most of the home islands, apparently."

At his flat, Eames carefully transferred all of the cats into the cat bed near the TV before rejoining Yusuf in the kitchen. "Well, you'll be sorry you're out on the town again this weekend," he told his friend as he pulled a bag of lemons out of the fridge. "I'm going to make roast chicken."

"Fuck," Yusuf said with feeling. "Save the leftovers for me?"

"I never have leftovers, even if I always roast two chickens at once," Eames said, airily. "And since you've brought me cats, I shall find the biggest-boned chickens I can get, just for them."

"Ha bloody ha ha," Yusuf said. "All right, then, I shall leave you alone to your kitchen, since I am not interested in being taunted with a meal I shall not be having."

"Ask your cats," Eames laughed.

Yusuf flipped him off, and slammed the door on his way out.

Eames laughed knowingly, and started to make lemonade.

///

"Cobb's," the voice on the phone said.

Eames hung up, surprised, and waited a minute before redialing. As soon as the phone was answered, he said, "Very sorry for earlier - I've had some very, ah, unsettling experiences with calling this number before. It's not every day one gets sexually harassed over a grocery list."

Pause, pause, and Eames said "Hello?" into the silence.

And then the voice on the phone began to laugh.

In the background, someone laughed and shouted, "Business first, cher Arthur!": Mallorie, one of the owners of the grocery.

"Okay, Mal!" the voice on the phone called back, and then there was a quiet cough. "As I was saying: Cobb's."

"Hello, Arthur," Eames said. "I'm Eames. I have to admit that it's quite a pleasure to be talking to you. So long as you're not Nash in disguise, anyway."

"I've heard that too many times today to take any real offense. Sounds like this Nash was a real creeper."

"May you never know the truth."

"I will gladly take your word for it, Mr. Eames. I understand you're a frequent customer here. May I take your order?"

"Yes, but please, don't call me Mister."

"Okay. Order?"

"Two of your best free-range chickens, please. I'm pretty sure Mallorie has my address around her office somewhere," Eames said.

"I have it here," was Arthur's reply. "Will you want the giblets as well?"

"Yes, please, and some extra if you have them. I happen to have some guests who quite like them."

"All right. Two free-range chickens with extra giblets. Thank you; you should have them within the next thirty minutes or so."

"Thank you," Eames said.

He allowed himself a few minutes' fantasizing about the voice and the person that must have come with it. Another one of Mallorie's strays? The cute girl with the mythological name - Ariadne - wasn't supposed to be coming back to the United Kingdom until summer. As for that creeper Nash - well, the less said about him, the better. Eames was just glad he wasn't there any more.

He wondered about Arthur, if he was taking notes and what his handwriting looked like - and then there was a tiny meow and he looked down, surprised. There was a tiny gray-and-white striped kitten with black-tipped ears near his feet.

"Aren't you the adventurer," Eames said, and picked the kitten up very carefully. It was still small enough to fit in his hand, and he couldn't help but smile as it yawned and then went back to sleep.

He was just replacing the kitten among its brothers and sisters when someone knocked on the front door. "Be right back," he murmured to the cats, and he padded back through the flat.

"Looking for Mr. Eames," the young man said. He was empty-handed.

"That's me. I assume you're Arthur?"

"That's me," Arthur parroted at him, in a passable imitation of Eames's own accent. "Mal says I'm here to deliver a message."

Eames chuckled, already guessing what it could be. "Yes?"

"You should just come down to the shop and make us dinner already," Arthur said, with a perfectly straight face, and his imitation of Mallorie's accent was much better than his attempt at Eames's. "Who is going to help you eat all the chicken?" Pause, and then: "Message ends."

"Houseguests," Eames said, and crooked a finger at the other man. "Come in. You can meet them, and then I'll put some things together and we can walk back to the shop."

Arthur smiled when he saw the cat bed and its untidy sprawl of kitten limbs and half-awake mother, and he pulled out his iPhone and snapped off a few quick pictures. "You said these were your guests?"

"I'm supposed to be cat-sitting this weekend," Eames said as he walked off toward the kitchen. "So you can see why I've called for a delivery rather than coming down to Cobb's myself. But since Mal asked so nicely...."

"What about taking them along?"

"Can't," Eames said as he rooted in his refrigerator for the herbs and the extra lemon zest. "Philippa's allergic. Which reminds me, hang on, let me change my shirt and wash my hands."

"You're a cookbook author, and this is your kitchen?" Arthur asked, not without some incredulity.

"Don't knock it 'till you've tried it," Eames called from the bathroom. "I tested every single recipe in that book in here, by myself."

Eames carefully closed most of the doors in the flat, including the door into the kitchen - he'd never needed one till Yusuf and Maryam had come into his life, just five years ago - and set several dishes of food and milk near the cat bed. "Let's go, then - it's impolite to keep the Cobbs waiting."

He was so preoccupied with hiding the smile on his face that he never saw how Arthur was fighting his own smile.

///

"And hail the conquering hero comes," Dominick Cobb called, grinning, from the cash register. "It's about time you got here; Mal's been absolutely pining after you."

Eames laughed and made a beeline for him to shake his hand. "So long as she remembers that she's not married to me. Good to see you again, Dominick."

"And you, Eames. Looks like that book's done you a lot of good."

"Not really. The whole business of being recognized lost its charm very quickly."

"Translation," Cobb laughed, "everyone's throwing themselves at you. Especially the ones who aren't your type."

"You live such a hard-knock life, my dear Eames." And Mallorie burst into the shop, skirts swirling around her knees.

"And you're not making it easier, what with you demanding to have me cook for you when I've houseguests. Who may be pining for me even now."

"Nonsense," Mallorie laughed. "We are far more interesting company than Yusuf's cats. Though I must admit I would ask for a kitten, if I could. Perhaps Philippa will grow out of her allergy, non?"

"How'd you know about the cats?" Arthur asked, and went to show her his phone.

"Yusuf told me he would name one of them after me," she said, with a perfectly straight face. "The prettiest one, of course."

"I have no objections, so long as he didn't promise you the grey one," Eames said, chuckling.

"There was a grey one? Oh, here it is - quite the charmer. I applaud your choice."

"Don't you always?"

"Except for your love life - "

" - Nonexistent as always, and that's how I like it - "

" - And I have always maintained that it is absolutely criminal that you, one of the most-sought-after men in the neighborhood, and that's without mentioning the knife skills, is always alone! Dom, help me out here!"

Eames watched the squint form on Cobb's face and rolled his eyes. "Oh, then I shall await your advice, sage one, in about a month or so."

He and the others stopped bantering when someone snorted quietly - and then they all looked at Arthur, who had clapped a hand over his mouth. But his eyes were still laughing, maybe at all of them.

"I like you!" Mallorie finally declared. "Now I know we amuse you!"

And Eames finally gave in to the laughter bubbling up in his throat.

///

"Hard to believe we've just been gorging ourselves on butter and lemon and rosemary and chicken," Cobb laughed as he went to open a third bottle of wine. "That didn't feel heavy or greasy at all."

"We owe it partly to that stupendous salad; don't insult our dear Arthur by forgetting about it," Mallorie said, tapping her wine tumbler against his. "I know where the beans are from, and don't think it's not coming out of your pay - but whatever did you make the dressing from? I know the contents of my own pantry."

He grinned at her, showing off his dimples, and shook his head. "If I told you, I'd have nothing else to do here and you'd toss me out into the world."

"I would never - "

"If she ever does that to you, Arthur, you're welcome to the flat," Eames said, and finished picking the wingbones on his plate. "We could split the kitchen in half, between your salads and my everything else, unless you know how to bake? No? Well that's settled then. 'Course you might have to deal with the occasionally cantankerous cat or two."

"I have no objection to cats," Arthur said, and tapped his glass against Eames's. "I'll take you up on the offer some time."

"Uncle Eames, will you teach me how to cook?" Philippa said as she gulped down a last glass of milk.

"Certainly, pet, when your mother thinks I can be trusted with you and a knife."

"You should be applying to your father, Pippa, you know how he worries sometimes," Mallorie giggled.

And the little girl with Mallorie's hair and Dominick's eyes promptly turned to her father - who laughingly raised his hands in immediate surrender. "Soon, okay, soon, Pip?"

"Okay, Papa."

"I cooked, so I'm not cleaning, and I must go back to the cats," Eames said, and stood up and started to gather the bones and the picked-over carcass. "Thanks so much for the lovely company."

"Happy you could make it," Mallorie said, and she glided over to him and kissed him on both cheeks. "Will you sign our copy of the book before you go?"

"It's on the couch," Dominick called as he picked Philippa up and started to carry her to her room.

Eames was fumbling in his pockets for a Sharpie when a blue marker appeared under his nose.

"Here, you can use this," Arthur was saying. This smile was more muted, and far more amused, and extremely attractive.

"Cheers," was all Eames said, though, and he inscribed the book, with his own grinning face right on the cover, with "To friends and the people who keep me fed."

He was already out on the street, shrugging into his coat, when he noticed that he was being followed. Stopping at the streetlight, he waved at Arthur, who was laughing as he jogged up to Eames. "Yes? If you want me to make you something you'll have to wait till I've fed the cats and had a good long kip."

"Actually, I was intending rather the opposite," Arthur said. "I was going to offer to make you coffee. I'm told I make very decadent coffee."

"Rather late for that, innit?"

"I didn't say you had to drink it now."

And Eames laughs till he thinks he's going to be sick - and at the same time he reaches out and touches the back of Arthur's hand to his stubbled cheek. "I don't care if I've just met you, and I don't care if you've just fed me the worst line on the planet. I'm not letting such a specimen like you pass me by. Come on."

 **the beginning**   



End file.
